


burrito

by beccastanz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Friends With Benefits, F/M, Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, More like fuck buddies than fwb? But not exactly either of those?, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, No Condom, No Pregnancy, Nontraditional dynamics, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Exchange, Rey takes charge a little, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Slightly Dominant Rey, Slightly submissive Ben solo, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, daddy ben, idk man Reylo just defies boundaries, kind of?, rey is on birth control I promise, soft daddy, very slight cockwarming, when your pwp grows feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccastanz/pseuds/beccastanz
Summary: “Are you okay?”He seems shocked at the question, as if it’s foreign to his ears, as if no one’s ever cared enough to ask.Her heart breaks for him, just a little; her sweet Daddy who takes such good care of her—but not himself.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 134
Kudos: 651





	burrito

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up a month late with daddy kink* 
> 
> It’s been a while! Grad school kicked my ass this summer, and I am glad to be back in a place where I have time to write! I hope you enjoy my first attempt at daddy kink—it accidentally grew feelings. Oops!
> 
> Thanks to [vuas](https://twitter.com/thevuaslog), queen of daddy kink, for the beta.
> 
> UPDATE Oct 2020: Please check out this [gorgeous art](https://twitter.com/beccastanz/status/1299751399039868933?s=21) that I commissioned from [reylocrumbsart](https://twitter.com/reylocrumbsart). She has a Patreon, too, and I can’t recommend it enough!

  
Rey lets herself into Ben’s apartment, just as she has every Saturday for...well, she’s lost count by now. This arrangement works for them; weekdays reserved for their separate lives, and weekends spent in bliss, no choices to be made when she has such a thoughtful, attentive man to take care of her. To set the rules. To test her limits.

Daddy.

She’s long since gotten over the embarrassment of the word, replaced with all-consuming arousal every time Ben croons in her ear to move _just like that baby, so good for me,_ every time she gasps around his fingers, his tongue, his cock, letting breathy moans escape, punctuated with _yes, please_ and _thank you, Daddy._

She likes being good for him...most of the time.

Some nights end up with her across his lap, ass turned red by his careful hands, always soothed afterwards with kisses, lotion, and praise: _you did so well for Daddy, sweetheart._

They make each other feel good, and that’s enough. 

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

So when she walks in on this particular day, she’s surprised to see Ben in an unusual state. Perhaps no one else would notice, but she can see it—bags under his eyes where there never are, a tightness to his shoulders that she’s never seen, his shirt rumpled as he sits on the couch, waiting for her.

“Ben?”

He looks up, a relieved, if tired smile forming on his lips as he stands to greet her.

“Hey baby, c’mere,” he whispers, arms outstretched for her as she falls into him.

Usually she’d stay in his embrace, let him guide her to the couch and feast on her cunt, always already wet and waiting for him—but this time, she veers off course, breaking their pattern.

She pulls back.

“Are you okay?”

He seems shocked at the question, as if it’s foreign to his ears, as if no one’s ever cared enough to ask.

Her heart breaks for him, just a little; her sweet Daddy who takes such good care of her—but not himself.

“Of course, baby,” he reassures. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Ben, it’s okay,” she states determinedly, even though this is the most she’s said his real name in weeks.

He crumples just a bit and relents, recognizing that she’s truly asking—not as his sweet girl, but as Rey.

“I just...had a rough week at work. Rougher than usual,” he amends, “and haven’t really...slept. At all.”

He collapses back down on the couch, and she follows, a soothing hand between his shoulder blades, the antithesis of their usual dynamic.

He continues, eyes closed, leaning into her touch, warm under her palm.

“I guess I’m under a lot of stress. But I don’t want to burden you, Rey. This is supposed to be—”

“Hey. No. This is for both of us,” she soothes, an idea already forming in her mind. “You treat me so well, Daddy,” she continues, noting the heat invading his pupils when she changes her tone ever so slightly. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He hesitates. She can sense his reluctance, and knows it’s going to take a bit more coaxing to let himself melt into her care. She’s holding him in her heart, desperate to impart some small amount of what he’s given her in their time together.

She has the perfect idea, and rises from the couch with a hand outstretched. 

“C’mon. I know just the thing.”

He takes her hand, rising from the couch with a mix of trepidation and affection.

She tries to look past the affection, reminding herself of the arrangement. It works, it has for months, and there was no reason to fix what wasn’t broken. 

Right?

She guides him to his bedroom, impeccably made bed a familiar sight.

“Clothes off,” she orders, a strange authoritative glint to her tone that has Ben raising an affectionate eyebrow.

As he shucks his layers, she tries to remain calm and ignore the stirring in her gut that always accompanies his bared flesh. This was to comfort him, she reasoned, not to get off...no matter how striking he was in just his boxers, even as he awkwardly bent down to peel off his socks.

“Underwear stays on,” she exclaims, a bit _too_ loudly, perhaps, if his slight flinch is any indication.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, cheeks burning, “it’s just—that’s not what this is.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

He’s so patient, so calm, always the perfect salve on her soul after a week of self-sufficiency. She can hold her own—but she likes when he holds her, instead. 

She refocuses on the task at hand, a smile on her face as she recalls her favorite comfort from childhood.

“I’m gonna burrito you!”

She’s never seen Ben Solo confused—it’s adorable.

“Rey, if you wanna order food, we can—”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” she stumbles out, guiding him to the bed. “It’s just—whenever I was sad, or tired, or stressed, I got in bed and burritoed myself, and it made me feel better.”

He still looks confused, and further affection blooms in her chest—she tamps it down in favor of pulling back the corner of the sheets.

“In you go, arms at your sides,” she urges, and to his credit, he climbs in without further complaint.

“Okay, now roll over onto your stomach but take the sheets with you.”

He does, and she continues to guide with hands on his shoulders.

“Now roll back all the way, so the sheets are tucked under on both sides.”

She watches his face as he rolls and twists, until the sheets are tucker firmly under his body, head propped on the pillow as he stares at her with a look she can’t translate.

She moves back, hands instantly too cool in the absence of his flesh beneath.

“Now lift your feet,” she commands, and he does, allowing her to tuck the sheets under him, fully encased in swaddled softness.

She sees him wriggle his toes, a small movement at the base of the bed that makes her chuckle.

“Now what?” he prods, though she notes the slightly softer tone than the one he was sporting earlier.

“Now you relax and enjoy,” she explains, answer obvious as she remembers the warmth brought to her on the infinite nights alone, scared, sad, with only the soothing crush of wrapped blankets to ease her pain, the cloying touch of love replaced by her own manufactured consolation.

A small “hmm” escapes him as he just barely wriggles in his cocoon, contemplating his position.

“It’s nice,” he acquiesces, and she beams proudly, mission accomplished.

“Good!”

She moves to leave the room in an effort to hide the sudden onslaught of emotions, seeing him in a comfort of her making, tamping down the memories of the nights she’d spent just like this, without him—recent ones.

“Wait!” he calls, and she can’t resist turning around to meet his gaze, nothing but his head poking out from the top of his adorably burritoed self.

She cocks her head, a silent urge.

“Something’s missing,” he whispers.

She rushes back over, desperate for this to work, to make him feel even a small percentage as cared for as he’d made her feel, undoing her hardships with every stroke of his hands, his lips, his cock—

“What is it? Is it not tight enough? Did your foot fall asleep? Is—”

“No, baby. It’s you. I need you.”

She freezes.

“C’mon, I’ll make room,” he begs, already hard at work undoing her perfect tuck.

“Ben—”

He looks at her. 

It’s clear what the look is for—and she gulps.

“Daddy,” she breathes, attempting to keep control under his stare, heat and want softened by his exhaustion, yet still burning. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest better with you,” he says simply, sheet held open in offering.

It’s a staredown.

He wins.

She pulls off her dress, left in nothing but a scrap of silk and lace around her hips, and climbs in.

They repeat his earlier motions, until the sheets are tucked tight around them. They face each other, feet swaddled in warmth as their legs tangle in an intimate embrace, arms pinned to their sides. Her toes graze his calves as their heads rest on the pillows, huddled together.

There’s nowhere to look except in each others’ eyes, heat and care and want and trepidation reflected between them. 

Their breathing syncs.

He shuffles down a bit and nudges his nose into her neck, planting soft kisses on the column of her throat and inhaling the scent of her hair, splayed on his pillow.

She tries to suppress a whine—then she feels his hand shift beneath the blanket to caress her hip, and it escapes.

“Daddy—” she chokes out, embarrassed at her inability to stop him, to force him to relax, to not put her first for once—

“What’s that, baby?”

His voice is sinful and deep, colored by that haze between awake and asleep, pure relaxation and unadulterated lust merged in a sweet symphony from his lips.

“This is supposed to be for you, Daddy, I wanted to make you feel good,” she pleads, a losing battle against her baser instinct as his hand moves from her hip to her center, gently stroking over her panties, barely any room to be made between her thighs as the sheets trap them together.

“This makes me feel good, baby,” he murmurs into the space between her neck and shoulder, “feeling you come apart. Will you let me? Hmm? Let me stretch out that pretty little cunt for Daddy?”

She’s not used to him pleading for her—it’s a new notion, right and good, feeding the heat in her belly as she finds one more inch to stretch her legs, unconsciously giving him more room to work.

Finally, she nods, mouth shut as he slips under the crotch of her panties, pulling them away from her skin with one crooked finger, still not touching the pooled wetness.

“Use your words, baby.”

She relents, believing _his_ words when he says this makes him feel good.

He’s never lied to her.

“Yes, Daddy, do it—”

He groans, pulling his head back up to kiss her—except it’s barely a kiss, with the way he immediately spreads her mouth with his tongue, hungry for her, consuming every small whine and moan as she tries to shift, movement impossible in the tight heat of the blankets.

His hand finally slips her panties to the side as much as possible, sinking a finger into her, the rest of his hand cupping her mound—there’s no room for anything but keeping it flush against her, the rest of his fingers pressed against the lips of her ridiculously drenched cunt, further back to rest between the globes of her ass, the heel of his palm already applying a delicious pressure to her clit. Moments like these remind her of just how _big_ he is, everywhere, hands and chest and cock and—

“God, sweetheart, you’re so wet for me already. Can’t believe you were gonna let yourself stay empty,” he tsks, starting a slow, shallow thrust, barely meeting an ounce of resistance. 

She tries to grind down against him in the limited space, panting against his chest as he presses his entire hand against her, sparks of sensation passing through her body like lightning. The first orgasm always comes fast, almost impossibly so, after waiting for him for days—she’s on a hairpin trigger, and the graze of his palm against her clit combined with the feeling of safe, enveloped tightness around them has her whining, writhing, clenching around the single digit as she crests—a small one.

A warm up?

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” he whispers, throat always caught at how easily she’s undone for him. “Can you take another one?”

She doesn’t know if he means a finger or an orgasm or both but it doesn’t matter because the answer is always _yes_ when it comes to him. However, she can’t help the lance of guilt through her at his sleepy lids, the softness of his voice that indicates a need for sleep, and she tries to give him an out, again.

“I can, but Daddy, you need rest—”

“What I _need,”_ he interrupts, second finger sliding in smoothly next to the first, absorbing her moan with a kiss before he pulls back to continue, “is to feel my good girl come apart. Can I do that, baby? Please?”

Again, he pleads, and again, she relents—for the last time. He can have her, hold her, bring her to peaks previously unknown.

He seems to recognize her loss for words as she desperately starts grinding down, wishing for more space to move his wrist and her hips but also relishing the confinement. She’s bouncing against him, driving his fingers as deep as they’ll go, letting him pull back only an inch before they’re fully buried again.

His breathing turns ragged, and she feels it against her forehead, her cheek, as he whispers words of encouragement so different from his usual.

“Rey, please, _fuck,”_ escapes him when she finally finds the rhythm that pushes his fingers against that magic spot inside of her with every twitch of her hips. “That’s it, baby, fucking _use me.”_

She gets impossibly wetter at his coaxing, his request so far removed from anything that’s ever passed his lips before. It plays in her mind over and over as his fingers curl and she gets closer to another peak, more intense as it builds with the heel of his hand against her clit.

_Use me use me use me_

And she does, with little remorse for the angle of his wrist as she finally feels the pressure burst, eyes closed as she cries out, head thrown back against the pillow—the movement forces him forward given the tuck of the sheets around their shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind his new position, using it to suck a bruise into the top of her breast, drawing out the pleasure of every last twitch until she goes limp.

He pulls back up so their heads are level again, looking in her eyes with a newfound reverence that would make her blush if she weren’t already.

He looks like he’s waiting—for what, she doesn’t know. 

All she knows is that if his cock isn’t inside her in the next 30 seconds, she’s going to _lose it._

So she does something she’s never done before.

She commands him.

“Fuck me, Daddy. Now.”

She’d already felt the growing hardness between his legs as he fingered her—it was impossible NOT to, given the close quarters, but she can tell that now, he’s absolutely straining against his underwear, fully erect at her tone, eyes turned black with need. It’s clear he’s forgotten the position they’re in, the way he moves to free his cock impeded by the trap of their own making. 

Their legs knock together in his eagerness, and she has to suppress a giggle, which becomes easier when she feels his fingers slide out, spreading wetness over her hip—she whimpers, instead. 

Finally, she hears the smack of his cock as it hits his abdomen, muffled by the sheets, his boxers undoubtedly still wrapped around his thighs in his eagerness to be inside of her, nowhere else for them to go when they were both intent on feeling her stretch.

She needs him close, now, forever— _fuck, Rey, calm down—_

She scoots impossibly closer, an idea forming to get as much skin to skin contact as she can, desperate to feel him.

Rey throws her leg over his waist, tucking the heel of her foot into his lower back, their chests flush as she wraps her entire body around him. She manages to extract an arm to wrap around his neck, using her other hand to guide him to her entrance, panties still shoved to the side.

He lets out a groan as she slides down—one thrust of her hips and he’s fully seated inside of her, filling her up completely at this angle. Every inch of them is pressed together with how her leg is slung around him—it feels different, more intimate than any fuck they’ve shared. 

She grips his arm and starts to circle her hips—it’s nearly euphoric how he fills her, not a millimeter of him left outside of the cunt that’s surely making a mess between them with how she’s dripping for it.

“Rey, baby, oh _god,_ ” he whimpers—she’s never heard him so undone.

It makes her feel powerful, to reduce her Daddy to _this_.

“Does that feel good, Daddy?”

She feels him nod, cheek pressed against the side of her head as he starts to thrust—he can barely get out an inch before pushing back in with the limited range of motion, but it’s _hard_ and _deep_ and she feels it in her _toes_ every time he pushes forward, putting them back together and grinding his pelvis right against her clit.

She knows she’s going to come again—it’s so good, almost _too_ good, almost _earth shatteringly_ good.

She starts whining too, unable to form a coherent sentence as arousal builds and she feels her peak approaching with vigor.

She’s so _close_ but there’s just _something_ missing, something holding her back from falling over the edge.

Then, Ben speaks.

“I need you, Rey, please, come on Daddy’s cock.”

He needs her.

He _needs_ her.

She comes apart, a shivering mess as he keeps up his short thrusts, then switches to just grinding against her, suspending her in ecstasy at the stimulation to her clit.

He’s still hard inside of her, but she knows he must be close—he always is after feeling her walls clench around him. Even without being able to piston his hips, he’s brought to the edge just knowing he’s made her feel good.

It almost feels like the third orgasm never ends when he just keeps _going,_ keeps fucking her like her refractory period is nonexistent—perhaps it’s true. He usually gives her a break in his movements once she’s come but he can’t seem to help himself today, so gloriously needy that she feels her heart clench in time with her cunt.

He’s muttering in her ear now, all sorts of lovely things that keep her suspended in midair, between orgasm and not-orgasm, the line so hazy that she’s not sure if she’ll be able to distinguish if she comes again. 

“Thank you sweetheart, such a perfect girl—I’m so lucky.”

_Oh._

She comes again, this time in sync with him as he empties inside of her, warmth flooding her senses as she shivers, groans, convulses around him, gripping him tighter than she ever thought possible with her leg around his waist and her arm around his neck, drawing out every bit of wetness she can.

Both of them are gloriously spent, panting, shaking, and damp with sweat. The sheets will have to be changed, and her feelings will have to be confronted, and he will have to pull out of her.

But none of that needs to happen just yet.

He’s softening inside of her but makes no move to pull out, both of them content to stay locked together for just a little bit longer. She never wants to let him go, wants to be stuffed full of his cock and his cum and his affection—

“You’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, seconds from sleep, tension gone from his shoulders and his voice.

“So are you, Daddy,” she whispers back.

She feels his smile in her hair as he drifts off, his hand circling her waist, attempting to snuggle deeper into her as if there were any room left that wasn’t absolutely full of him.

He feels perfect, divine—Ben, Daddy, sweetheart, _everything._

Her eyes blur, this particular wetness unwelcome and unsurprising.

She knows eventually she’ll have to escape, break the cocoon of warmth and comfort, of slick heat and connection, but for just a moment she allows his soft snores to caress her chest, his solidness to envelop her, and she thinks of all the days that end in Y.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments make my heart soar, and I’m around on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/beccastanz)


End file.
